Page 3 of Shattered Obsession

Oh, so you like hot disaster men and dangerous women and you’re also a nerd. I'll keep that in mind.

Xander

I mean… yeah.

Thalia

Fair.

This is easy. Natural.

That’s the first thing I notice as the conversation goes on. I don’t have to calculate with him. I don’t have to reread my messages three times and edit half my personality out of them to sound digestible. The conversation just… moves. He asks things that aren’t invasive but still feel like he wants to know me. There’s a strange warmth that collects in my chest, like exhaling after holding your breath underwater. I didn’t realize how much I missed being asked about the small, boring parts of myself. No one ever asks about those. They ask about my major. My goals. My resume. But not what smell reminds me of childhood or which season I secretly wish would never end. No one asks about the version of me that exists when the world isn’t watching.

Xander does.

And the worst part? I feel safe telling him.

Not in a fireworks way. Not in a stomach-dropping, heart-racing, adrenaline-spiked high kind of way. But more like the way grass feels under my feet. Like an open window during a storm. Like a question, not a demand.

I never realized how big the difference is between butterflies and alarms.

He asks simple questions. Like what kind of dog I want someday. Whether I like thunderstorms. If I’m a night person or a morning person. What book ruined my sleep schedule most recently.

Thalia

‘I’ll just read one more chapter’ is the biggest lie I tell myself.

Xander

I knew you were a liar.

Thalia

YOU ASKED!

Xander

I’m just saying I appreciate being warned.

It feels like talking to someone who’s been in my orbit for longer than a handful of hours. It feels dangerous in a way I like.

I don’t realize I’m smiling until I notice my face starting to ache.

I’m still talking to him when I get a notification that says I matched with someone named Damian.

Damian is… different.

His pictures look like they were taken for the specific purpose of proving a point. He’s attractive in a way that hooks your attention at a glance. Broad shoulders, jawline like a blade, tattoos he makes sure are visible. He has that calculated half-smirk guys practice in the mirror. It’s not necessarily that it’s fake. It’s that it’s meant to land.

His bio is short. Cocky. He says he ‘doesn’t do drama’ and that he ‘likes a girl who can take it’. That he’s ‘not here for games’.

I should swipe left.

There’s something coiled in the wording that makes my stomach prickle, but I hear a voice in my head. ‘Don’t be picky. You don’t get to be picky.’

It’s a voice I hate. It sounds like every moment I’ve swallowed discomfort just to make someone else more comfortable.

I swipe right.